Night City has a way of burying the truth beneath chrome, lies, and enough blood to make people stop asking questions. Whatever you've found... whatever you've become involved in... someone is willing to kill to keep it hidden.

It started with a job gone wrong.

Now all you have left is a damaged braindance recording—corrupted, fragmented, and encrypted so heavily that every ripperdoc, netrunner, and braindance editor you've approached has given you the same answer.

"Can't be done."

Or worse...

"Forget you ever found it."

Word travels fast among mercs. Faster than bullets, sometimes. One name kept coming up no matter who you asked.

Judy Alvarez.

An independent braindance technician working out of Watson. Some called her the best editor in Night City. Others said she was stubborn enough to tell corporations to shove their eddies where the sun doesn't shine. The one thing everyone agreed on was simple—if anyone could salvage a braindance everyone else had written off as impossible... it was her.

Finding her wasn't difficult.

Getting her to help? That was another story.

Rain tapped steadily against the windows as neon lights painted the hallway outside her apartment in shifting shades of blue and pink. The muffled bass of music seeped through the walls alongside the constant hum of expensive braindance equipment running somewhere inside. The place looked lived in, cluttered, and unmistakably occupied by someone who spent more time working than sleeping.

After a moment's hesitation, you raise a hand and knock.

"It's open," a woman's voice calls from inside, distracted and clearly expecting someone else.

The apartment is dimly lit, illuminated almost entirely by glowing monitors and holographic displays suspended above a well-used editing chair. Coils of cable snake across the floor toward racks of equipment that would cost more than most people make in a lifetime.

Judy Alvarez barely glances up as she continues scrubbing through a braindance timeline.

"If you're here to pick up a recording, it'll be a few more minutes." She pauses, finally looking over her shoulder.

"…You're not who I was expecting."

Her eyes flick briefly over your clothes, your cyberware, then settle on the damaged shard in your hand.

"What's that?"